Last Chance
by northernexposure
Summary: SPOILERS FOR 9.2  well, a tiny one in the notes . Disaster strikes once again for Ruth. PLEASE NOTE - RATED M.


**Last Chance**

Author's note(s):

**PLEASE NOTE THIS FIC IS RATED M FOR MATURE.**

1) Now, maybe I missed something (god, I hope I did), but it seems to me that in 9.2, Beth took Ruth's fingerprint, a plot point not resolved in that episode. Which fills me with dread, frankly.

2) I find it very, very hard to write sex scenes. Particularly in the case of Harry and Ruth, where restraint is so much a part of their relationship. I also tend to prefer the simplicity of a kiss. However, that's no reason not to work at them, or I'll never quell the faint feeling of embarrassment I get as I write the words…

3) This is very PWP.

* * *

_In the confusion and the aftermath_

_You are my signal fire_

_The only resolution and the only joy_

_Is the faint spark of forgiveness in your eyes_

Snow Patrol – _Signal Fire_

_

* * *

_

Harry looked up as Lucas quietly slid the door to his office shut. The younger man was, he noted, looking strained – his face was even paler than usual, and rings of anxiety circled his eyes. It had been a tense week for them all… the assassination of a foreign dignitary on British soil was not only an atrocity, but for Harry and his team, something of a personal embarrassment.

Lucas hovered for a moment, and Harry watched as his newest Section Chief glanced out onto the Grid. It was growing late, and Beth was preparing to leave, chatting with Dimitri as she pulled on her coat. Ruth was still at her desk, no doubt working, although he did not let his gaze linger, as it might once have done. Harry was training himself not to think too much about her, these days. She'd made her position clear, and there was no point dwelling on it. Perhaps one day doing so would not be so painful, but for now…

"What can I do for you, Lucas?"

Lucas pulled a chair towards Harry's desk and sat. "We've got a lead. From the Met. They found a fingerprint."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Took them long enough to share that information, didn't it?"

His agent shifted in his chair, the anxiety evident even in his soft voice. "They didn't share it," Lucas told him. "I went looking for what they weren't telling us.'

Something about the look on Lucas' face sent a sliver of ice into Harry's heart. "Whose, then?"

Lucas swallowed. "It's Ruth's, Harry."

Time slid away from him like a wave from a shore. Harry blinked. There was a buzzing in his ears. It threatened to drown out Lucas' next words, but Harry forced himself to listen.

"Now, I know it's ridiculous," Lucas was saying, "This has to be a plant. I can't imagine why anyone would want to set Ruth up, or what purpose this serves… But there has to be a way to putting this right. We just need to find out who did this, and why."

Harry nodded, a slow, deliberate motion that belied the storm in his gut. "How long have they had the print?"

"The file shows it was recorded in the first forensics examination."

"Three days ago?"

Lucas winced. "Yes. I know. It means we can't have much time."

Harry stood. "Thank you, Lucas."

"What's our next step?"

Harry gripped the back of his chair. His gaze fell on Ruth, still sat at her desk. For the first time that week he allowed himself to dwell on her, his eyes tracing every line of her concentrating form.

"Leave it with me. This requires a higher level, I believe."

Lucas stood, nodding. "Who would do this to her? Again?"

_Someone__ who wants to get to me. Again._ "I don't know," he said, aloud. "But Lucas… whatever happens, I expect you to find out. For now, tell no one what you know. And I mean, _no one_."

Lucas nodded, looking at Harry for a moment with a question in his eyes. Harry tamped down on everything within, showing the agent nothing but a cool and measured exterior. Over the other man's shoulder, Harry noted that Dimitri and Beth had left.

"Oh – and send Ruth in here, would you?"

* * *

Ruth's fingers dug into the arm-rests of her chair. She stared at him, willing his eyes to tell her something different to what had just come out of his mouth. She shook her head.

"No," she said. "No, I – This can't –"

Harry got up, moving around the desk to face her more closely. He reached out as if to touch her shoulder, then thought better of it. His hand hung in mid-air for a moment, before he dropped it.

"I'm sorry. Ruth, I'm sorry. I don't know what this is, but we both know the likely outcome."

Ruth rubbed a hand over her face. "If the print is the only evidence against me, it'll never stand up. You know that. It's-"

Harry nodded, but she knew what he would say if he were not too attuned to her suffering to add more. _A trial, Ruth? You're already dead. Dead women don't get trials._ However she'd dismissed his efforts in those difficult weeks after George's death, Ruth knew the weight of the strings Harry must have pulled to get her reinstated. And it hadn't erased the smudge of doubt on her record left by Mace all those years ago. She'd run, in the face of allegations she could not answer. Harry could tell his superiors it had been a burn, could site her exemplary record before and since. But these things had a way of resurfacing, and it was in their natures to never quite untwist. Some of the people that mattered would believe it, but others would not, and when something like this occurred…

"Oh god," she said, feeling the panic begin to rise, "Oh, _god_…"

"Listen to me," Harry said, his voice low and firm. "I want you to go to my place."

Ruth looked up at him. "What?"

"I want you to trust me," he said. "And I want you to go. Go quietly, go quickly. Go _now_."

* * *

Harry watched as Ruth gathered her coat and bag, and said goodnight to Lucas. She didn't look his way, either too angry or too shocked to spare him a thought. The double doors slid around her. She flickered in his vision for a moment, and then was gone.

He opened a locked drawer in his desk and took out a mobile phone. It wasn't the one he usually used, and had never been in action before in its life. Harry left his office without his jacket and climbed up to the roof. The evening wind whipped across the balcony and he shivered. Sometimes discomfort without was the only way to quell the pain within.

Harry flicked open the phone and pressed a single number. He watched it search for a connection for a moment before holding it to his ear. It rang twice before a voice answered.

He listened as the person on the other end spoke first. Out across the city skyline, the sun had set, the last vestiges of light burning against a few ragged strips of high cloud.

"Yes," he said, into the handset. "Well, you knew this day would come. And now it is here."

* * *

Ruth was sitting in his darkened living room when he got home, hours later. She hadn't removed her coat.

"Ruth," he said, softly, and she turned, slightly, to look at him. Even in the half-light her face was pale, her eyes huge and luminous with fear.

"I didn't… I didn't know what to do…"

Harry crossed to her, sitting beside her on the sofa. "It's alright. I just wanted you safe. Here, with me, you're safe."

She looked at him as if he were insane. "Safe?"

He conceded the point. "For now," Harry clarified. "Until…"

Ruth stood up, "Don't," she said, "Don't say it. There has to be another way. I can't…"

He reached out, taking her hand, gratified when she gripped it briefly before letting go.

She walked to the fireplace, her face reflected in the dark mirror that hung above it. "Can you fix this, Harry? Can you… stop this?"

Harry moved, slowly, stepping up behind her, watching her face in the mirror. Ruth didn't look at him, reaching out instead to fiddle with one of the ornaments that stood on the marble surface of the mantelpiece.

"There's only one way I know how," he told her softly, honestly.

Ruth's face crumbled, and she shut her eyes. "I can't, Harry," she said, " I can't do that again. I can't… I can't run again, with nowhere to go."

"Ruth, if you don't…"

"I'd rather die," she whispered. "I'd rather rot in jail than be that alone again. I can't do it, Harry. I just…"

"It won't be the same," he told her. "I promise. This time will be different."

* * *

Ruth opened her eyes, and looked at them both, reflected in the mirror. Harry's face was lined with sorrow, and hers trembled on the edge of despair. _Neither of us should be here_, she thought, _like this._ They should have had a different life. Together, perhaps. How altered this day would have been, in that case. What would it have held? Children, dinner out with friends, silent companionship as they both read quietly in this room? Instead, here they were, preparing to part again, when they had never been together in the first place.

Something swelled in her heart as Harry touched his fingers to her shoulders, pain and love in equal measure. He ran them, gently, down her arms until he reached her hands, and Ruth let his fingers interlace with hers. His skin felt warm, and as he stepped closer, she could feel his breath on her neck.

"Ruth," he whispered, but she silenced him with a look, their gazes meeting in the mirror. She held his eyes there.

"How long?" she asked.

Harry shut his eyes, dropping his forehead until it rested against her hair. In the mirror, she could see the furrow on his brow as he frowned.

"How long do I have?" She asked, again, keeping the tremor out of her voice.

He left it a little longer before he spoke. She felt the whisper of his words stirring her hair. "There's a delivery coming. It'll be here at 3am."

The clock on the mantel read 11.30pm. Three and a half hours. _Timing is nothing. Timing is everything. _

Ruth took a breath. She tugged on his hands, gently, pulling them around herself. Harry opened his eyes, and she met them in the mirror.

"I want you," she said, ignoring the fear that she sounded ridiculous. _Timing is everything. But what happens when there is no time left?_ "Harry, I need-"

His fingers flexed around hers, his arms tightened, holding her closer. She could feel his comforting bulk against her back, his warmth enveloping her. Was this the right time? Probably not. She felt heavy, weighed down by a grief so profound she felt she would drown in it. _But maybe there was never a right time, maybe…_

Harry's lips touched her jaw, just beneath her earlobe, and she drew in a breath so fast it left her dizzy. He kissed her, slowly, gently, lips moving along her jawline. In the mirror, she saw his tongue trace a curlicue against her skin and her heart stuttered in response. She turned her head as he worked toward her chin, allowing him access, expecting him to lift his mouth to hers.

He didn't. Teasing, Harry backtracked, dropping his lips to her neck. He paused, for a moment, glancing up to meet her stare in the mirror. Ruth realised her own lips were parted, and shut her eyes, leaning back until her head rested on his shoulder, turning away to expose more of her neck. She wanted to feel his lips, there, between the top of her clavicle and the curve of her neck…

Harry let go of her left hand, running it up her side until he found the edge of her blouse. His lips touched her skin again as his hand found her bare stomach, and Ruth gasped, flinching, almost, at the sensation. Harry held her fast against him, and suddenly they were moving. He pulled her backwards, gently.

He kept his arm around her as they traversed the stairs, not saying a word, conscious, perhaps, that anything could break this fragile moment. Harry guided her into his bedroom, still behind her, still holding her as if by doing that alone he could keep her there. He didn't loosen his grip until they bumped, softly, against the bed, and even then he kept hold of her hand, turning her until she faced him, taking her other hand, once again, in his.

They stood, inches apart. Ruth could feel the rapid timbre of his heart. Harry was breathing quickly, his eyes sweeping across her face as if wanting to memorise every minute detail. Suddenly he pulled her forward, against him, and kissed her, full on the mouth.

Their hands came apart, arms wrapping around each other as the kiss intensified. Ruth wanted to feel his skin as he had felt hers. She pulled back, reaching up to his shoulders to tug off his jacket, her hands already pulling his shirt from his trousers as it fell to the floor. Her hands slid beneath the cotton, gliding up over his naked back, and she felt a tremor in Harry's chest, heard his sharp intake of breath. He buried his face in her neck for a moment, and when he raised his head, he smiled at her expression.

"Why so surprised?" He asked, in a heated whisper. "You don't think I've thought of you touching me like this for years?"

Despite the absurdity of it, she burned red, and he laughed gently under his breath, reaching up one hand to stroke her face.

"Oh, Ruth," Harry said, love punctuating the words, and though he said nothing else, there was nothing else he needed to say.

They undressed each other in a flurry of kisses. Ruth discarded his shirt and tugged his belt from his trousers as Harry finished unbuttoning her top. He brushed his knuckles over her stomach as he pushed it open and she gasped again, throwing her head back at the sensation of his skin against hers. Her legs were turning to jelly even as Harry pushed the garment over her shoulders and pulled it down her arms.

A moment later, Ruth found herself lying on his bed, dressed only in her underwear. Harry lay beside her in his boxers, propped up on one elbow, and she had to turn her head away as he traced his gaze over her skin. He touched one hand to her thigh and she felt a pulse of excitement flutter at her core. She opened her eyes to look at him as he began his gentle exploration, stroking his hand up over her hip, thumb brushing against the lace of her knickers, causing them to tighten against her. Ruth bit her lip as the sensation released a flush within her, but his hand had already moved on, feather-light up her torso until it reached the swell of one covered breast. Harry brushed his knuckle over the nipple and she trembled, tipping her head back as he pulled back the lace. He circled two fingers, slowly, around her darkened areola. Ruth found herself arching toward him, silently desperate for more. Harry leaned forward, his tongue replacing his fingers.

"Oh…" she breathed, unable to stay silent. "Oh…"

His hand stroked back across her stomach, drawing a pattern in slow circles as it moved lower while his tongue did the same at her breast. His thumb brushed against the lace of her knickers again, but this time his fingers slid beneath their rim. Ruth arched her body again as he slipped one finger along her wet folds, the sensation so intense that she felt herself convulse. Harry drew his hand back, then used two fingers to separate her lips, stroking a third across her clit, along the length of her heat and deep into her in one smooth, slow movement. Ruth cried out, throwing her head back against the bed and thrusting her hips as she came, so fast and so hard that she felt the room fading almost into black.

The aftershocks of his touch suffused her as Harry withdrew his hand and pulled her close, gently kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, and finally her mouth. Ruth floated in a dream, running her hands over his body, down his back, along his leg, which had curled across hers, down his stomach, stroking along his sizeable erection.

"My god, Ruth," he whispered, into her ear. "You're beautiful."

She blinked, shaking her head. "Selfish," she whispered. "Sorry."

"No," he smiled, kissing her again before pushing her back into the duvet. "That was perfect."

Still tingling, Ruth was eager for him, aching to feel him inside her. She pulled him toward her and they lost the last of their clothing, Harry angling himself above her. He stroked her face with his fingers, lips brushing hers as he slid into her, eyes screwed shut as he exhaled sharply at the sensation. They were still for a second, overwhelmed by the simple fact of where they were, and who they were with, at last. Then Harry opened his eyes and looked into hers.

Ruth felt him pulse within her and urged him on, her hands pulling him to her, her legs wrapped around his hips. Harry thrust into her, hard, deep, again and again and again. Ruth was suddenly aware that they were near the end, not just of his coupling, but of everything, everything that had so nearly been… She wanted it to last, and last, and perhaps Harry was aware of her thought at that moment, because he held back, and held back, until she could feel another type of ache within her.

"Harry," she begged, on the edge, desperate for him to plunge with her. "Harry…"

Ruth came again, and in her secondary pleasure she heard him shout her name as he climaxed, flooding into her. They rocked together, clinging to one another in the aftermath. Lips and fingers stroked gentle rhythms until one or other of them felt cold enough to pull the duvet across their still-tangled forms before sinking, exhausted, into sleep.

* * *

Harry woke as the doorbell rang, a jarring buzz that jolted him from warm slumber. Ruth woke too, instantly alert and terrified, pulling away from the embrace they had held each other in. Harry put one hand up to her face, his mind a flood of memories he never wanted to lose.

"It's alright," he told her. "Stay here."

He slipped out of bed, acutely, foolishly, aware of his nakedness before her. Throwing on his robe Harry left the room, padding down the stairs. Outside, the doorstep light had illuminated, and he could see a shadowy figure through the glass panels of the door.

Taking a deep breath, he opened it a fraction. His visitor wore black from head to foot, including a black cap that was pulled down over his eyes. Without a word, the stranger held out a padded envelope. Harry took it and shut the door immediately.

Pausing in the hallway, he ripped the package open, glancing inside to confirm what he was expecting. A note accompanied the small grouping of documents, and he pulled it out.

THE DEBT IS PAID was all it said. He screwed it up and put it in his robe pocket before returning to the bedroom.

Ruth was curled in a tight ball, her wide eyes staring into space. Harry crossed to her side of the bed, and sat beside her as she sat up, staring at the envelope in his hand. The time on the clock read 3.03am.

"So that's it?" Ruth asked in a whisper, indicating the package.

"Yes," he said, sounding stronger than he felt, watching the play of tragic emotions on her face. "Take it."

She did as she was told, slipping her hand inside to remove the brace of papers within. Harry knew what she was expecting to find – instructions on some other rendezvous with a shadowy figure who would take her out of England without the authorities knowing.

Ruth picked up the first item and looked at it, a blank look on her face. She flipped the small book open to its penultimate page, a slow look of stunned comprehension dawning on her face. She looked up at him.

"This is a Costa Rican diplomatic passport."

He nodded.

"Harry, it has my photograph in it."

"Yes."

"But how?"

He shook his head. That was something he'd never be able to explain, not even to her. Besides, she had forgotten the question, noticing for the first time what else was in the pile.

Another passport.

Ruth picked it up, gaze boring into his as she flicked to the identity page. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at the photograph.

"Harry…"

He moved, gathering her into his arms. "I told you," he whispered. "It won't be the same this time. Now, get dressed. We have to go."

[END]


End file.
